“Abigail was practically buzzing with anticipation—she couldn’t wait to hear every juicy detail about the all-important Groundhog meeting set for the following morning. Just before flipping the recorder back on, Quinn revealed that it wasn’t until the middle of the night—after hours of the fact-finding questions directed at Beauregard were answered—that the two new friends, utterly wiped out, finally drifted off to sleep.”

QUINN: “Once I turn the recorder back on, you’ll hear four groundhog voices—each with a distinct accent. So, no more wine! You’ll need to pay close attention as they share their stories. You’ve already heard from Beauregard Lee of Georgia; next up are Punxsutawney Phil from Pennsylvania, Buckeye Chuck from Ohio, and Pierre Shadeaux from Louisiana.”

ABIGAIL: “I grew up in Cleveland, you know that Ohio twang? Totally familiar. And I’ve been in Pennsylvania forever—Punxsutawney Phil might as well be family at this point. Now, Pierre Shadeaux from Louisiana? He’s got that smooth, kinda Cajun sound. Makes you want to lean in and listen real close.”

Quinn pressed the button on the wrist recorder. With a soft crackle, it came alive with four groundhog voices overlapping in a blur of accents, followed by Quinn’s own steady narration. This was no ordinary assignment. Being invited to observe this secret meeting was a scoop most reporters only dream about. 

BEAUREGARD LEE: “Well now, welcome, welcome to this—my humble home away from home. Y’all, come on in and make yourselves comfortable. Fellow Groundhogs, gather ’round now. Before we get properly acquainted, I do declare I’ve got the honor of introducin’ our VIP guest. That’d be none other than Porcupine Quinn, investigative reporter extraordinaire, who’s here to help us get to Miss Abigail.”

“Quinn’s just arrived from a whirlwind journey all the way from the year 2007, ridin’ in Wish—a magical hot air balloon, if you can believe it. Seems Quinn was travelin’ with a group led by Dylan—now that’s Abigail’s alter ego, just so y’all know—and from what I gather, it was one wild and enlightenin’ adventure. Dylan gave Quinn some mighty important instructions, includin’ a map to help track down Abigail’s whereabouts. And wouldn’t you know it, by some stroke of fate or fancy, Quinn went and stumbled right into my den while followin’ that map. Quite the coincidence, wouldn’t y’all say?”

The three groundhog guests were wide-eyed, not only in anticipation of meeting one another for the first time but now absolutely twitching with anticipation regarding the porcupine with hat on head, map in hand, and recorder on paw.

QUINN: “Thank you, Beauregard, for that warm welcome—and for naming me a VIP at this clandestine gathering. As you mentioned, I’m an investigative reporter and usually rely on one of my sharp quills to jot down notes. But today, I’ve brought my fancy wrist recorder to ensure I capture every detail just right. Since I’d like to document the entirety of this VIP meeting—and in this case, the P stands for private—I respectfully ask your permission to use my recorder.”

The four groundhogs all mumbled their agreement, nodded their heads, and, with paws together, applauded the newcomer. Beauregard Lee continued…

BEAUREGARD LEE: “Now that y’all’ve met Quinn, I reckon it’s only proper we go round and introduce ourselves. Just a short tale, mind you—tell us what brought you to this here meetin’ today. Why don’t you start us off, Punxsutawney Phil—seein’ as this IS your neck of the woods, after all.”

PUNXSUTAWNEY PHIL: “Now lemme level with ya, straight from the burrow…”

“To be exact, I ain’t exactly the world’s top weatherman. My prediction record? Eh, it’s got more holes than a Swiss-cheese samich’. But every February 2nd, them humans still make a big fuss over me—callin’ it Groundhog Day, some kind of national holiday. I pop up, blink into the cameras, and suddenly, I’m more popular than a Steelers quarterback in the playoffs!”

“Truth is, we critters down here been noticin’ some real changes. Winters? They ain’t what they used to be. Lemme tell ya, snow’s been on the decline, and winters been warmin’ up faster than a skillet on a campfire. Cold snaps? Not so snappy anymore. Those deep overnight freezes we used to count on? They’re snoozin’ more than me in January!”

“In fact, over the last ten years, there’s been more record highs than lows, and rain’s on the rise, too. Feels like Ohio’s gettin’ warmer and wetter—and not just from all the tears shed when the Browns lose again!”

BEAUREGARD LEE: “Indeed, I must say that describes what’s been happening in Georgia as well. These past few years? Mercy. Atlanta’s been heatin’ up like a skillet left on a July porch. We been breakin’ high temperature records like a fiddler at a hoedown. Days in the 70s in February? Unnatural, I tell ya. Trees bloomin’ weeks too soon. Confused azaleas. I even saw a firefly in March. And the rain, lord have mercy. It don’t just drizzle no more—it arrives. Thunderstorms roll in like a cavalry charge, droppin’ buckets like someone kicked over the heavens. Flash floodin’s become as common as barbecue joints.” 

“It ain’t just rain—it’s them big storms too. Meaner. Wetter. Louder. Seems every year now we got some storm swellin’ up in the Gulf, marchin’ toward us like it’s got a score to settle. I’ll say this plain: the South is sweatin’ more than ever, and it ain’t just the grits boilin’. Climate’s changin’. I see it in the air, the soil, and the trees.”

“How about you introduce yourself next Buckeye Chuck? I figure bein’ from Ohio and a close neighbor of Phil’s, y’all are havin’ the same kind o’ weather changes.”

BUCKEYE CHUCK: “Howdy there! As Beauregard Lee said, name’s Buckeye Chuck, Ohio’s official groundhog. I may not have a fancy title like the General, and I ain’t got Phil’s media circus, but I sure do keep my snout to the soil—and lemme tell ya, it’s gettin’ warmer by the year.”

“Used to be, I’d burrow in good and deep for a long, cold winter nap. These days? I’m wakin’ up confused, wonderin’ if it’s spring or some weird muddy November part two.”

“Been noticin’ the same stuff as Phil—less snow, milder lows, and a heck of a lot more rain. Fields turnin’ into puddles. Sleds gatherin’ dust. And them February days ticklin’ the 60s? That just ain’t right.”

“Phil and me, we go way back—we don’t always agree on predictions, but we both know weather’s changin’. Me? I call it like I feel it. And what I’m feelin’? Ohio’s gettin’ warmer and

wetter. Kinda makes ya miss a good ol’ fashioned snowstorm. That’s about it from the great state of Ohio.”

BEAUREGARD LEE: “Many thanks, Chuck, much obliged for that honest Midwest perspective. Now, before we all gather above ground and follow Quinn’s map to Abigail’s abode, there’s one more guest I’m just tickled to introduce.”

“Now listen close, y’all. This here ain’t just any groundhog. He’s got style. He’s got flair. He hails from the heart of Louisiana, down where the gumbo’s always bubblin’ and the moss hangs lazy from the trees.”

“Ladies and gentlehogs, give a warm welcome to the one, the only—Pierre Shadeaux from Louisiana. French. Definitely French. OOH LA LA!”

PIERRE SHADEAUX: “Bonjour, mes amis… uh, groundhogs. But, oh là là, I got me a lil’ confession to make. Down here in this fine Cajun land of Louisiana, they call me da weather prognosticator, mais… I ain’t no true groundhog, non! Truth be told, I’m one o’ them Myocastor coypus, what y’all might know as a nutria.”

“I got more in common wit’ beavers—look like ‘em, act like ‘em too. But don’t let dat fool ya—we still family, yeah? We all here for the same reason, cher. I come to help, same as y’all. Gotta find Miss Abigail, see what sorta adventurous trouble she got cookin’ next. And let me tell ya, I’m ready.”

QUINN: “Well… I must say, this has been most interesting. And while I’ve got more questions than I know what to do with, I’ll keep them—for now. If my calculations are right, we’ve got one more day of travel ahead… and then, we’ll arrive in Sewickley—the town where Abigail lives. Something tells me, that’s where things really begin.”

Stay tuned to learn more …